As Soon As I Am Able
by ConeycatJr
Summary: Spike has to admit it's getting better. A little better, all the time. It can't get no worse.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Flashpoint, I just like to play with them. _

Summary: It's a long, slow process, but Spike is getting better.

**Spoiler Warning:** _Contains Season 3 spoilers_

Further author note: The pepper spray and the cream cheese were referenced in the episode "Business As Usual." I think the cream cheese is a much better joke. The recurring raccoon is my own idea.

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**As Soon As I Am Able**

**Chapter One**

When Jules and Leah came out of the women's locker room, Spike was lurking in the corridor.

Well, hanging around in the corridor. Spike knew he was no good at lurking. When he lurked, he pretty much looked like he was just standing there. However, as compensation for his lack of lurking capability he had a pretty good line in wide-eyed innocence--which for once failed him completely when Leah hit him with the stuffed raccoon.

"This," she announced, smacking him with the disgustingly moth-eaten, furry object, "has gone far enough."

"What?" Spike protested, throwing up his hands to fend her--or rather, it--off. "Why do you keep assuming I'm responsible for your friend?"

Leah clubbed him once more for good measure, although he noticed she was careful to hit him with the furry side and not the wooden base.

"Don't be stupid, Spike. As hazing jokes go, it's ridiculous, harmless, and pretty imaginative. I've talked to Donna on Team Three. She told me about the bagel vest. This has your fine Italian hand all over it."

"Oh, well, I wouldn't believe everything Donna says," Spike said. "She has this little problem with the truth."

"Yeah, she keeps telling it," Jules chipped in. Traitor.

"Right, that's the problem," Spike agreed. "Here, let me get rid of this for you," he added, trying to pry the stuffed raccoon from Leah's grasp.

"Oh, no you don't," Leah growled--literally growled, it was impressive. "I'll deal with it myself."

Which meant he was going to have to stage another raid on the dumpster outside her condo, unless she disposed of the raccoon on her way home. He hoped she wouldn't--okay, it was probably time for the thing to quit appearing in her locker… car… seat in the briefing room… but Leah had to have a birthday sooner or later, and Reginald really should show up. Spike just didn't want to have to ransack every dumpster in Toronto. Not after already searching every pawn shop in southern Ontario to find him in the first place.

It had taken much too long for Team One to welcome their new member with a prank. Ed was usually the one who made sure that tradition was upheld, on the theory it made the new person feel like one of the gang. When Donna filled in while Jules was injured, for instance, Ed had insisted they pull something on her. Fortunately, Ed was more concerned with style than firepower, so he didn't insist that anyone end up in the emergency room. Not every team leader had that much common sense. Spike had been kind of proud of his vest idea--they had replaced Donna's vest with a duplicate lined with cream cheese instead of Kevlar, and then they'd run the obstacle course. The look on Donna's face when she fell over an obstacle and cream cheese shot out of her seams had to be seen to be believed. She really had looked like a bagel.

Spike had actually had qualms about the timing of the prank because they'd pulled it the shift after a really hairy call that had ended with Donna having to shoot someone. Luckily she'd found it funny, and God knew they all needed the laugh. Nobody had even minded ending up with cream cheese in his hair when Donna retaliated.

The team needed the laugh even more now; it was just that for quite a while they hadn't had the heart to think of a good joke for Leah. It was particularly important that this one be funny rather than mean, because nobody wanted Leah to think they blamed her for being on the team. Not even Spike, although he had to admit he'd had his moments.

Even at his worst, though, he hadn't wanted to leave the prank up to Wordy, who wasn't what you would call subtle. Spike found that out his first day on the team, when he discovered Wordy had drenched his gear with pepper spray. The sneezing had been hilarious, and the coughing was still pretty funny, but when his eyes started swelling Spike had gotten a little concerned. Just as everything started to get alarmingly blurry he'd heard Lew say, "Uh-oh." The next thing Spike knew he was being hustled into the shower, still in full gear, and Lew was apologizing, telling him to keep his hands away from his face, and holding his head still in the stream until his eyes cleared. For a minute Spike had actually thought that was part of the joke, until he realized Lew was genuinely worried. Lew had apologized for that one for a week--he felt much worse than Wordy, and he hadn't even done anything.

Probably best not to think about that.

Leah herself had presented them with the perfect idea, when she came in one day muttering about the raccoons that upended her trash and rifled through it with their nasty creepy little hands, and peered in her downstairs windows with their nasty beady little eyes. Apparently, Leah was not a fan of urban wildlife.

Spike, Sam, and most of the Scarlatti family had gone on a mission to locate a stuffed raccoon--it had looked like they'd be reduced to using the adorable plush one Spike's mother turned up in the Toronto Zoo's gift shop, until Spike had found Reginald in a pawn shop downtown. He looked like someone's first--and hopefully last--effort at taxidermy and had apparently died of natural causes--at a guess, advanced age and possibly some sort of dermatological condition. Also, whoever stuffed him had apparently tried to fix his mouth into a forbidding snarl, but managed only to give him a goofy grin that made him look like he'd been smoking something illegal. He was so hideously perfect that Spike had felt bad about haggling the pawnshop owner from fifty bucks down to twenty for him--if he hadn't had to tell the rest of the team what he'd paid for Reggie, Spike would have just given the guy fifty despite it being highway robbery. Instead he'd made up for it by buying a bunch of overpriced Fleetwood Mac records, despite the fact he didn't own a turntable.

Anyway, for the last week Reginald had been turning up where Leah least expected him, clutching little signs that said things like, "I have come for your trash," and "Open the compost and back away slowly." Spike had had second thoughts about the whole thing when it was too late--it hadn't even crossed his mind to think about anything racist--but Leah definitely got that this was an urban-wildlife joke rather than anything ugly. The first time she saw Reginald she'd let out a satisfactorily startled yelp, but by now she didn't sound so much startled as… well, homicidal, which was even funnier. It was getting hard to decoy her, though, and she was armed, so it was probably time to give Reggie a rest.

"Just as well you're here, Spike, we were looking for you," Jules remarked. Leah continued to look like she wanted to give him a raccoon enema, so Spike kept an eye on her as he addressed Jules.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah." Jules gave him the big-brown-eyes look that generally meant she was up to something. Spike gave her the big brown eyes right back and Jules explained in a rush, "Okay, I was planning to do some yard work this weekend, and Leah said she'd help, but we need an extra pair of hands and we were wondering if you were busy. You know how it is, we're almost never off on the weekend so Ed and Wordy are doing family stuff and…"

Spike didn't ask what Sam was up to--he'd noticed Sam and Jules were no longer the buddies they had been before her injury, but he carefully didn't think about that because he was pretty sure if he thought about it he was going to end up knowing something it was better for the team if he didn't. He and Lew had discussed Jules-and-Sam once, just briefly, and had agreed this was one case where ignorance really was bliss.

Probably best not to think about that, except he couldn't help it because then Jules remarked that she couldn't remember the last time the team had been off for an entire weekend, and as a matter of fact Spike could. He remembered it quite clearly: he and Lew had spent most of the Saturday helping his cousin set up an elaborate video gaming system. Well, Spike had set up the system while Lew handed him stuff like an operating room nurse, and entertained his cousin's kids with tales of Uncle Spike's derring-do. To listen to Lew you'd think Uncle Spike spent his entire working life climbing down the sides of buildings and charging through blown doors.

Spike yanked his mind back to the present as Jules continued her pitch for assistance in replacing the dead chokecherry bushes in her yard with something a little more presentable. He was going to say yes, as soon as she gave him an opening. It wasn't like he had anything more interesting to do, and Jules and Leah's plans had the advantage of sounding like something they were going to do anyway, rather than something thought up to get Spike out of the house so he'd have less time to sit around and brood. Not that he wasn't grateful for his friends' efforts, or at least for the affection he knew motivated them. But it was nice not to be a charity case for once.

It was also nice that Jules and Leah seemed to be pals. He'd always kind of wondered how it was for Jules to be the only woman on the team--hell, for years she'd been the only woman in the entire SRU. He'd never asked because he'd always figured she'd deny any loneliness, and then probably be uneasy around him, but he'd worried about it a little. He was glad that didn't seem to be an issue any longer, because lately he'd gotten to know about loneliness and he wouldn't wish this on anyone.

"I'll feed you," Jules finally offered. Spike looked at her, both of them recognizing the straight line as one Lew would have jumped all over in his quietly fiendish way, and for a second Spike couldn't have said a word if his life had depended on it. Jules looked just as stricken, which for some reason made Spike come unstuck. He looked at Jules sternly--well, for him--and prompted,

"Okay, when you say you'll feed me, what you mean is you'll give me a free hand in your kitchen, right?"

"Um, right," Jules mumbled. Spike nodded, and then, noticing Leah's expression, explained,

"There's a reason we never have team potlucks, and the reason is Jules." He thought about it. "And probably Sam."

"I can't imagine Ed's much of a cook," Leah mused.

"Well no, but Ed's married to a caterer who likes us," Spike explained.

"Copy that," Leah nodded. "Wordy's probably good at chili, right?"

"How did you know that?" Spike demanded.

"He has the look of a guy who makes a mean chili," Leah shrugged, and then shook the battered raccoon at Jules. "So you mean to tell me, if Spike blows us off I'll end up being Groundskeeper Willie all day, and then I get to starve. Is that right?"

Jules wriggled her shoulders and stepped behind Spike. "Well, kinda," she admitted. Leah looked at her, looked at Spike, and then looked at Reginald. The message was pretty clear--he owed her. Even if he hadn't been planning to cave, Spike would have caved.

"Okay," Spike agreed. "I'm in."

"Great," Leah said. "We're taking my truck. I'll pick you up."

"See you in the morning," Spike said.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Flashpoint, and this story is strictly for fun._

_**Warning:**** Contains Season 3 spoilers.**_

_**Additional Author Note: **I almost never write angst, but I given the topic, it's hard to avoid. Also, I didn't intend for Spike's dad to take over the second half of the chapter, but I got thinking: I really like Spike--he's kind, he backs his friends up, and I don't think he has a mean bone in his body. There has to be a reason why Spike turned out Spike, and his parents have to be part of it. I considered giving Mr. Scarlatti a name, but since this is all Spike's POV, I figured as far as he's concerned his dad's name is Dad, and I left it at that. _

_**Summary:** It is much too early in the morning. Spike is waiting for Leah to pick him up, and thinking about a few things he would prefer not to have to._

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**Chapter 2**

It was still dark when Spike let himself out of the house on Saturday morning, being careful not to wake his parents. When Jules called last night to tell him when they had to meet he'd promised his folks he'd be as quiet as possible--his dad had teased him a little about that, since when he was a kid he'd never been the sneaking-out type, and of course nowadays he was much likelier to be sneaking into the house before sunrise rather than out of it.

Not so much these last few months, though.

It was cold. Spike zipped up his jacket and the neck of the hoodie under it, folded his arms tightly across his chest, and sat down on the porch glider to wait for Leah.

And think. He'd been avoiding that as much as possible lately, but you couldn't just not think forever. Especially not when a person was tired, which Spike was right now. Had been for a while, actually--he wasn't sleeping normally yet, although he was improving.

For some reason, the preliminary hearing had helped. Spike couldn't really explain it, but he'd been less of a mess after that. The hearing had established the Crown's case against that tragically stupid kid, and it seemed like laying out her responsibility--hers and her dead partner's--made Spike start to let himself believe maybe it wasn't all his fault Lew was dead after all.

Still. He should never have let Lew anywhere near that bomb. He should never have said a word about any of this stuff. If he hadn't, Lew never would have been there, he wasn't the kind of guy who'd try to do something he couldn't, to blunder in and make things worse. If he hadn't known how to do a preliminary assessment of the situation he'd never have gone near that evil pile of trash bags in the first place.

But… there hadn't been another team--another bomb technician--close enough to get there in time. Every available SRU team had been spread out all over the city trying to find the second bomb, the one the caller had been so cryptic about, the one Spike and Babycakes had located and Spike had been in the middle of defusing when Lew and the sarge found the one on the campus. Spike could never have gotten there in time, let alone the other teams halfway across the city. The uniforms and the campus cops hadn't been able to completely clear the building, there were still kids coming out when Spike arrived on the scene and--

The bomb would have gone off and blown that building all to hell, with kids still in it. Spike was near enough to himself again to feel sick about the idea. Lewis couldn't let that happen, he didn't have any choice. Spike didn't either. Knowing that helped a little.

Parts of the preliminary hearing were a blur in Spike's mind. He'd figured the sarge would get called to explain the situation as the police saw it. The Crown was charging the kid with terrorism and first-degree murder--Lew's death fulfilled about three separate criteria under the Criminal Code: he was a peace officer who had died as a result of terrorism involving explosives--and Spike was called to explain about the bombs. He guessed that made sense. The kid had helped build and set them. Spike could explain exactly what she did.

And he was doing all right, really, concentrating on the technical details around the bomber's signature and the specs of second one in the office building. The prosecutor made him explain all about the motion-sensitive triggers which meant he'd had to work on the bomb by hand, and she'd acted like she didn't quite get it--she kept asking all these really obvious questions, which eventually had started to wear on Spike's nerves. Of course, part of the problem was that Spike knew he was going to have to tell her about Lew sooner or later, but she kept harping on the fact that he'd walked up to the package with the bomb in it, cut it open, and started cutting wires. She acted like she had never heard of a bomb-disposal tech before.

It got worse. It was bad enough explaining about Lew going to assess the situation, worse talking about Lew working on the bomb while trying to keep one foot steady on that landmine. When he got to the part about going out himself to see if he could disarm the mine, the prosecutor got him to repeat the bit about clearing the dirt away, with his hands, at least three times. Spike had finally lost it a little and asked her what she would have done if it was her and her friend was standing on a landmine. It was ridiculous.

And then he'd tried to explain about the pinhole, the one way to save the situation, the safety feature that let you pin the mine again so Lew would be able to walk away from it--Spike still dreamed about that sometimes, that he'd uncovered the pinhole and it was clear and everything was all right after all. Those were the mornings he hated waking up. By the time he told the story in the hearing he was already rattled and when he got to the part where he had to explain the hole was glued shut, he couldn't make the words come out. It was like his throat was glued shut, too. If the judge hadn't called a recess he'd have just sat there crying, and he couldn't even feel ashamed about it.

Sarge took him out into the hallway to pull himself together, and after a minute or two Spike realized the prosecutor had done it on purpose. The kid's only defense was idealism. She'd meant to damage property, not civilians, and apparently the police who were going to have to deal with the bombs regardless didn't count because it was their job. She and her partner had each addressed Ed as "Jackboot"--Spike didn't know where he'd heard that but he had. All they'd been able to see was the uniform. And if this case ever went to a jury, it'd be in front of twelve people who only ever saw the SRU on the news, all geared up like something out of an action movie. They probably didn't look like people at all, if you only saw them like that. Maybe a jury would actually think, well, too bad but it wasn't like the cops didn't know the risks.

So what the prosecutor wanted was to turn the SRU into people for them--the soft-spoken sergeant, and Lew who spent most of the last twenty minutes of his life making sure nobody else died that day. And Spike himself, the devastated guy who tried his hardest but couldn't do anything to save his friend. It was evil, and it was unnecessary at a preliminary hearing, but Spike got why she did it. She wanted the other side to know exactly what she was going to use to counter the "I didn't want to hurt anyone real" defense if this thing went to trial.

Spike and the sarge had been just about ready to go back into the courtroom when the two kids walked up, a boy and a girl from the campus paper or one of the earth defender organizations following the case, something like that, white kids with dreads, which Lew had always found kind of amusing. Sarge, not knowing what they intended to say, had stepped between them and Spike, offered his disarming smile, and asked what he could do for them.

And the girl, near tears herself, had addressed Spike directly:

"We're so sorry about your friend. He sounded like a good person."

Spike had just about broken down again himself as he told her thank you, but in retrospect maybe that had helped too. Maybe he'd also forgotten for a minute that other people were only human. After that his nightmares had gotten more manageable, at least. He'd almost stopped dreaming that he'd turned around in time to see what the mine did to Lew. Instead, he had the more normal nightmares, the "what if..." ones Spike figured everyone on the team had sometimes. What if we hadn't figured out which company the second bomb was set in, what if we'd guessed wrong entirely and hadn't searched the right buildings, what if some student or maintenance worker had spotted the tangle of trash bags on the campus and gone over to pick up someone else's litter...

What if they'd failed and a bunch of civilians had died instead. Spike found it perversely comforting that he found those nightmares almost as bad as the ones about Lew. It had to mean he was getting back to normal. Lew wouldn't have traded someone else's life for his own. At least nobody else had died that day. Lew had accomplished that.

Still.

He wasn't going to have to tell that story again, which was something else to be grateful for: the defense had accepted a deal for the kid to plead to second-degree murder. She might be out by the time she was fifty. Spike had no idea whether she'd ever really get that her gesture had always been pointless or accept responsibility for what she'd done, but he guessed he could live with not knowing. He had enough to think about already.

The front door opened behind him. Spike looked up to see his dad step outside, wearing his overcoat over his pajamas and bathrobe. His grey hair was mostly standing on end, he looked sleepy, and out of nowhere it hit Spike that his dad was getting to be an old guy. He slid over in the glider and his father sat down beside him.

"Sorry I woke you," Spike ventured after a minute. His father shook his head.

"No, I was awake. You don't sleep as much when you're an old man like me." He glanced at Spike and added, "Or when you're a young man with a lot on his mind."

"It's not so much my mind," Spike mumbled. Lew would have jumped on a line like that. Although he might not have said anything, just given a sideways grin that said he could, he totally could, but he was letting you off the hook just this once.

Spike's dad sighed. "Your heart, then." Spike studied the toes of his sneakers. His parents had lived in Canada for nearly forty years, but his dad had never learned to be reserved about his emotions. Canadians still puzzled the senior Scarlatti a little--he knew they felt things, he just couldn't understand their protests of "no, no, I'm fine." Spike privately believed the reason his father never missed the Stanley Cup final, even though he didn't particularly like hockey, was because that was the only time he ever saw a bunch of Canadians being honest about their feelings. Not that Spike would want his dad any other way. For a second he felt a rush of love that was almost painful. "Your mother and I miss Lewis, too."

Yeah. Lew had been a fixture at Scarlatti family gatherings for the last couple of years, like Spike was over at the Youngs'. One more of the approximately seven thousand hard things about Lew's death was calling or visiting his folks every week or so, to make sure they didn't feel abandoned. Spike wasn't sure he was doing any good, but they always seemed glad to hear from him.

His dad changed the subject. "So today, you're going to help Julianna with her yard?"

"Yeah," Spike said, and then he figured he'd save his father the trouble. "Me and Leah."

"This is the new person on your team."

"Yeah."

"She's a nice girl?"

Spike smiled at his toes, trying to imagine what would happen if he called Leah a girl to her face. That would be an excellent way to get knocked on his ass the next time they worked on hand-to-hand combat. He was pretty sure she could take him. However, to his dad anyone under the age of about forty-five was a girl or a boy, preferably a nice one. And the term had more than one meaning. It could mean exactly what it sounded like, like when his mother wanted to know about anyone Spike was dating. He knew his dad meant something else: "Does she fit in? Can you work with her? Can your mother and I trust her with your life?"

"Yeah," he said. "She's really nice. Very sharp, good at the job. I mean, I wish we hadn't gotten her this way, but…" Spike broke off. His dad put an arm around him and pulled him close. That kind of thing used to embarrass him when he was a kid, although he'd never said anything because he didn't want to hurt his father's feelings. As an adult he was well aware it was a pretty high-class problem, having a father who made sure you knew he loved you.

A set of headlights turned into the driveway. Spike hugged his dad back and, as he let go, asked,

"You want to come meet Leah?" The two men walked toward Leah's old blue 4Runner and Spike opened the passenger door. The Beatles were singing "Dear Prudence" on the stereo and Leah turned the volume down as Spike introduced his dad. His father and his team mate exchanged pleasantries for a moment and then his father said,

"Well, I should go inside, with my old bones. Have a happy day."

English was not his father's first language, but Spike knew he sometimes played with that to say exactly what he meant while pretending to mix up his words a little. This was one of those times.

"Thanks, Dad. You, too."


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Flashpoint, I just like to play with them. _

Summary: It's a long, slow process, but Spike is getting better.

**Spoiler Warning:** _Contains Season 3 spoilers_

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**Chapter Three**

It was warm in the truck. Spike unzipped several layers and fastened his seatbelt as Leah put the 4Runner in reverse, then wound down his window to wave goodbye to his dad who was standing on the porch. Leah flashed the headlights on and off and Spike's dad waved back. Then he stepped inside, and a moment later the porch light went out.

"Man, it is too early to be up on a day off," Leah muttered as she backed out of the driveway. She gestured at the cup holder between them. "I got you a coffee. Two milk, right?"

"Oh." Spike looked at the Tim's cup. "Thanks, Leah."

"Figured we'd need it. Jules is gonna owe us big-time." Spike laughed. Leah went on, "Your dad seems sweet. I didn't realize you lived with your folks."

Spike shrugged, although in the dark with her eyes on the road he didn't know whether Leah saw it. "I'm the youngest," he said, which really didn't explain anything. He considered falling back on "Hey, we're Italian," but instead he said simply, "They like having me, I like being here, and... they're not getting any younger, you know?"

"That's nice," Leah said. She sounded sincere. Spike realized Leah never talked about her folks at all, and he wondered whether it would be okay to ask about them. It was weird how personal you could get, driving in a car in the dark. He hesitated a beat too long and the moment passed. Leah gestured at the stereo, where the Beatles had gone on to "Glass Onion." "Do you mind that?"

"No, it's good," Spike replied. He always figured the driver should get to pick the music, and anyway he liked the Beatles. Leah turned the music up a couple of notches and started talking about the remastered albums, which according to her sounded amazing, even better than the vinyl. Apparently he was in the presence of a serious fan. It was fun to listen to anybody expound on something they were enthusiastic about, and to be honest it was particularly entertaining to see reserved, cool Leah turn into such a fangirl, so Spike quietly practiced his negotiating technique--which he had never had to use in the field but hey, you never know--and kept her talking.

It took a minute, but Spike became aware of an odd feeling. It took him a second to realize what it was: an absence of that awful aching emptiness that seemed to accompany almost everything he did lately. It took him a moment longer to figure out why.

It was the Beatles. Or Leah and the Beatles. Actually, it was the fact Spike was positive Lew had no opinion about the Beatles whatsoever, so the only people in the truck right now were Spike and Leah. It felt like the first time in months he'd run into anything that didn't remind him painfully of Lew.

And it wasn't that he wanted to banish Lew's presence from his mind--or really, his dad was right, his heart--but it was a bit like falling off a twelve-storey building and breaking every bone in your body except for your nose. You would be grateful for your nose. It was a relief to find one little place that didn't hurt, and Spike was too tired and sore to feel guilty about it. He didn't think Lew would hold it against him.

Jules had obviously been waiting in the doorway and came out as soon as Leah pulled into her drive. Spike let himself out the passenger door and made for the back seat.

"Spike, you don't have to--" Jules protested.

"It's okay. You've got to navigate."

"Exactly where is this nursery, anyway?" Leah asked. Jules began explaining the route, which would take them well outside of the city. Leah shook her head. "Just as long as we don't run into any bears. Raccoons are bad enough, but I am not going to put up with bears." She glanced in the rearview at Spike, who was minding his own business, drinking his coffee. "And don't you get any ideas."

"Me?" Spike gave her the big brown eyes, and Jules spoke up,

"Don't worry about it, Leah. Just remember what they say about meeting a bear in the woods."

"What's that?"

"You don't have to outrun the bear. You just have to outrun Spike."

"Hey!" Spike protested.

"I dunno, he can probably move pretty fast when he's properly motivated," Leah remarked. "Maybe I'll plan to outrun you instead."

Jules giggled and leaned forward to turn up the stereo. "One of my older brothers had every Beatles album on vinyl. I used to sneak into his room and listen to them," she reminisced. "Drove him crazy. He used to do the James Bond thing, lay a piece of thread across the top of his albums so he'd know if anyone--me--was messing with them."

"He ever catch you?" Leah asked.

"Of course not. I'd seen some James Bond movies, too. I'd just put the thread back when I was done."

The two women laughed, and in the back seat Spike leaned back and let the voices and the music flow past him. He was a little startled when the truck turned off the highway and he realized they had arrived. Leah turned in her seat.

"Okay, everybody out, and watch out for bears." Spike noticed Jules looking at him and realized she was probably waiting for him to make a crack about how much he hated the woods himself. He wasn't going to. He'd been mostly kidding in the first place, and that joke hadn't been particularly funny since the day Lew burned his hands. Jules noticed him noticing and looked away. Leah glanced from Spike to Jules, obviously aware something was going on, and Spike felt bad about leaving her out but he just couldn't. Instead, he said,

"Yeah, and if anyone happens to see a little house made of gingerbread, we're out of here."

Jules had a very general idea of what she was looking for: something with flowers, preferably bright, and not ridiculously large or spreading. This left out Spike's automatic first choice, which was a rhododendron. His folks and some of the neighbours had rhododendrons, which made determined efforts to take over the whole street, but everyone put up with that because of the hummingbirds. In the summertime the bushes turned into giant flowery globes with hummingbirds buzzing around them. The problem was, given the size of Jules's yard, they'd be in the kitchen with her by spring.

He was about to suggest a flowering crabapple tree, which was certainly bright and would take a while to get so big it was annoying, but then Leah suggested lilacs for the smell and Spike recognized a much better idea when he heard it. They drove back to Jules's place with four baby lilac bushes, just starting to flower, in the back next to Spike. The day had warmed up considerably so the windows were down, and the Beatles were cranked on the stereo. It was Jules who started singing along to "Penny Lane," and the other two joined in, and since they all sounded about equally bad it seemed like the thing to do was turn up the music. Which just made everyone sing louder.

It took longer for Jules to decide where to put the bushes than it did to plant them. That part would have gone even faster if they hadn't started to worry that Paul was crowding Ringo (nobody remembered who named the lilacs but Jules and Leah both blamed Spike and he had to admit, it sounded like something he would do) so they had to wait while Spike called his folks for advice. While he was at it he sent a quick text message. Jules had left her jacket on the back step and didn't notice the pocket vibrate. Spike didn't call her attention to it.

There was just room for three people in Jules's kitchen. At least there was until Jules opened a bottle of red wine--a pretty good choice with spaghetti--and had a glass. Maybe two. Anyway, they'd all forgotten they hadn't really had lunch--or breakfast, come to think of it--and that was when Spike and Leah discovered Jules was the kind of person who danced around her kitchen when she was tipsy. Singing along to "She Loves You." Interesting the things you learned about someone after working with them for several years. Spike finally persuaded her to sit down, but the only way to keep her still was to give her a job. That was a bit of a problem because he certainly wasn't going to let her cut up mushrooms or anything, so he got her to fill saltshakers. There was actually only one saltshaker, but Leah kept sneaking it away and emptying it. Jules didn't seem to notice.

Walking back to Leah's truck later, Spike had a momentary flash that from now on he would probably always associate the Beatles and the smell of lilacs with Jules and Leah. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. It was a nice realization on the one hand, but... probably not a safe one.

And he was not going to start thinking like that. You couldn't live that way.

It was dark again when Leah pulled up at Spike's house.

"Nice day," she said.

"It was," Spike agreed, and then he paused with his hand on the door handle. "Look, Leah, I... I was a jerk to you when you first joined the team." If it had been him, he probably would have pretended not to know what he was talking about, but Leah just looked at him seriously and let him finish. Lamely but sincerely, he did: "I'm really sorry about that."

"I didn't exactly get off on the right foot, either," Leah pointed out. "And you were only a jerk for about two hours. Under the circumstances, you can have the two hours."

"Thanks," Spike mumbled. He still didn't get out of the truck. "The raccoon... you know the raccoon is all in fun, right?" He didn't know why he suddenly needed to be sure about that.

Leah laughed. "Spike, just between you and me? The raccoon is hilarious. I just figured, if I didn't kick up a bit of a fuss over it Wordy might decide I hadn't been properly pranked and he'd get out the pepper spray. Don't tell anyone I told you that, okay?"

"Scout's honour," Spike promised.

"Were you ever a Scout?"

"Um, actually, no. 'Night, Leah."

Sunday afternoon, while Spike and his dad were watching the Stampeders trounce the Tiger-Cats (his dad didn't understand CFL football, but he had a great deal of sympathy for the hapless Tabbies) the doorbell rang. From the den, Spike heard his mother exclaim,

"Julianna! How nice to see you! Come in, come in."

"I just need to drop something off," Jules was explaining when Spike got there. She shoved a gym bag at him. "Do not ask me how I got hold of this thing. And if she gets fed up and wants to kill somebody, I had nothing to do with it."

"Kidding, she's kidding," Spike assured his confused mother. "Thanks, Jules. You're awesome."

"Tell me something I don't know already. See you tomorrow."

The rest of Sunday was busy, but very productive.

Monday morning, Spike got to work early, stashed the gym bag in his locker, and ran to check whether Leah had arrived yet. Sam and Wordy were on their way to the workout room.

"No, she's not here not yet," Sam told him. "Why?"

"If she shows up in the next ten minutes or so, distract her, okay?" Spike requested. Sam looked dubious, and Wordy unexpectedly spoke up.

"Okay, Spike, don't you think this has gone on long enough?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I mean, it was funny and everything but we don't want her to think--"

"Think what?" Spike demanded. He knew what, and just the idea Sam and Wordy were thinking it made him feel a little sick to his stomach. His team mates looked uncomfortable and he was about to press the issue when Ed and the sarge showed up. Ed looked around and asked,

"What's going on?"

"Apparently I'm harassing Leah," Spike said grimly. Sam and Wordy looked more uncomfortable than ever, and Spike was so close to asking how this was worse than nearly blinding someone with pepper spray that he had to bite the inside of his lip to keep quiet. Nobody said anything for a minute. Spike looked at the sarge. "Leah and me--we're good, boss, really. It's actually… a different joke."

"Same raccoon, different joke?" Sam asked, with a bit of an edge to his voice. And that was fair enough, really, the whole team knew Sam, Leah and Wordy had gotten tight. It was just, Spike couldn't recall the last time anyone had assumed his intentions were harmful and he didn't know how to react.

"Yeah. It's… kind of between Jules and Leah and me. She's going to find it funny. I guarantee it." Spike still couldn't believe the rest of the team thought he was... Had he been that much of an asshole to Leah all along? And he hadn't even noticed? Almost pleading, he added, "Seriously, guys, have I really been that bad?"

Wordy, thank God, looked ashamed of himself. "No, you haven't. I just thought--I don't know what I thought." Actually, all of a sudden Spike did know what Wordy had been thinking: that everyone on the team had already been hurt enough, and Wordy couldn't stand any more.

Spike's tone was gentle as he repeated, "It's harmless, Wordy. She'll find it funny. Honest."

The sarge spoke up. "And this is the last one, right? Positively the final appearance of Reginald, the Recurring Raccoon?"

Spike nodded. "Promise." He had just had time to wonder whether he should just call the whole thing off when Jules came charging around the corner.

"Leah's here, I got Donna and Winnie to stall her, is it set?"

"No, I was just--" Spike began. Jules pushed him.

"Go. Go! I'll hold her off." Jules dashed back the way she had come, all Horatio at the bridge. Apparently the rest of the team thought Spike was capable of spite, but not Jules, because there were no further objections--although Sam gave Spike a look that said if there was a water cannon involved, he was going to kick Spike's ass. And Spike had always liked old Samtastic fine, but for some reason that look, despite the fact it was aimed at him, it made him suddenly like Sam even better.

It only took a couple of minutes to set things up in Leah's locker--the only problem was the tripwire. He'd just made it back into the hallway when Leah and Jules arrived, with Donna and Winnie in their wake. Jules was talking animatedly about how one of her new lilacs had more buds coming out since Saturday.

"It's either Paul or Ringo--which one is closer to the front steps?"

Leah frowned. "I think that's Ringo. Spike, do you remember?"

Spike thought about it. "It's got to be Ringo. Remember, we were going to move Paul? We wouldn't move the one next to the steps, so that one must be Ringo." He pretended not to notice the bewildered expressions on the faces of the other men, and stepped politely out of the way so Leah and Jules could enter the locker room. Leah had to know something was up from the elaborately casual way Donna and Winnie continued the conversation as an excuse to follow them. She gave Spike a look of mingled accusation and amusement as she passed him. Spike returned the look with his best innocent smile, thinking, "Please find it funny, please, please find it funny…"

Less than a minute later there was a blast of music from inside the women's locker room, and then shrieks of laughter. Jules actually had to hold onto the door frame when she came out and invited the rest of the team to come see what was going on.

As promised, Leah was laughing. In fact she almost couldn't speak, she just pointed at the inside of her locker. The rest of the team stared at the moth-eaten stuffed raccoon, which now clutched a scuffed iPod Shuffle in his paw, earbuds in his ears, as he serenaded them with "Rocky Raccoon." Despite the visible speakers--on a tight timeframe, Spike hadn't been able to figure out how to hide them--he was still pretty impressive. Well, for a given value of "impressive."

Jules spoke first. "It's even better than I expected. How did you get his mouth to move?"

"That was the hard part," Spike said. "I was afraid I'd damage him."

"'Damage him,'" Leah repeated, with an unladylike snort of laughter.

"Does he sing anything else?" Sam asked. Sam was hard to impress.

"The entire White Album," Spike admitted.

"You loaded the White Album onto a raccoon," Ed said. "I should shoot you just for that." Spike was pretty sure Ed was kidding, but he was still relieved when the raccoon broke into "Why Don't We Do It In the Road" and Jules and Leah cracked up again.

"Man, Spike, I'm glad you're on our side," Sam remarked finally. "You're a bad suit and a fluffy cat away from being a James Bond villain. There isn't a death ray in your basement, is there?"

"No," Spike replied. "That's where we keep the washer and dryer."

"I'd like to know what your science fair projects looked like when you were a kid," Wordy remarked. The raccoon began to sing "Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da" and Ed apparently couldn't take it anymore.

"Reminds me of those singing catfish that were popular a few years ago," he muttered. "Sophie's brother gave us one for Christmas."

"Really. What happened to it?" Jules asked brightly.

"Clark accidentally took it out to the garage and left it on the floor, Sophie accidentally drove over it--twice--and then I accidentally shot it four times. Leah, please take that thing home before Greg has to talk me out of doing something that might lead to an awful lot of holes in the walls."

"What--? Oh, sure, Ed," Leah replied, without taking her eyes off the singing raccoon.

"And now that we've had this lovely musical interlude, ladies and gentlemen," the boss said mildly, "it's probably time to get to work."

"Sure thing, boss," Wordy murmured. He patted Spike on the shoulder and Sam made a wry face of apology as the two of them followed Ed and the sarge out of the women's locker room. Spike was about to follow when Leah stopped him.

"That really is the funniest thing I've ever seen. Thanks."

"I'm glad you like it," Spike replied. "If you hadn't, I don't know what Sam and Wordy would have done to me." At her questioning look, he explained, "They thought--they've got your back, is all." Leah raised her eyebrows and Spike shrugged, "It's a good thing." You were supposed to protect your team mates. From your team mates, if necessary.

"Yeah," Leah murmured. "Um, about the iPod. Do you want me to--?"

"Don't worry about it," Spike assured her. "It was broken when I got it--Lew found it in a parking lot and we wanted to see if I could fix it. And then we were going to build a talking witch for Halloween, but the final result would have scared little kids so we gave up on it. I think he would have enjoyed this." He had to stop to clear his throat, and that was when he noticed the expressions on both Leah's and Jules's faces. He realized this was the first time he'd ever told Leah a Lew story. In fact, it might have been the first time he'd actually said Lew's name out loud in her presence.

"Well," Leah said again, "thanks. With this guy in my window, I probably won't have any trouble with live raccoons ever again. Just... just remember what Rocky said to the doctor, okay?"

"'Doc, it's only a scratch'?" Spike quoted.

"'And I'll be better, doc, as soon as I am able,'" Leah reminded him.

Yeah, Spike thought as he turned toward the door. Not right away, and maybe never completely, but better. As soon as I am able.

It was something.


End file.
